You Are Here . . . For Now.

One of the craziest things about middle age is that you often have as many chapters behind you as you do in front of you. On your life’s map, “you are here” appears right smack in the middle – and for many of us, the more colorful chapters are behind us as we continue in our quest to “make it” in this strange adult world. Sure, you might crank your car stereo and blast a little Paradise City in your mid-priced imported automobile as you make your way to your middle management job at some behemoth conglomerate – but you’re not cutting class and driving across the state at 80 miles an hour to catch a Jayhawks or Babes in Toyland show at First Avenue. You’re not existing on a diet comprised solely of coffee, diet Mountain Dew, macaroni noodles, Raisin Bran, jello, and Busch Light beer.  You’re not writing checks for $3.02 at McDonalds when the urge for a Quarter Pounder with Cheese becomes overwhelming and then praying that it will clear the bank. You earn more than minimum wage now, after all. You probably have a mortgage and a 401(k) and health insurance – and it’s probably been at least ten years since you’ve run out of toilet paper. You take vitamins now. You exercise – not for fun but because you’re trying to stave off old age and death. If you still have hair, congratulations. It’s probably grey. And these days, you color it not because you thought blue hair would be a fun change of pace but because you’re too embarrassed to face the millennials at work with your old lady hair.

Welcome to middle age, where we eat our vegetables and floss. The high-high and low-lows of yesteryear have been replaced with a steadfast predictability. Maybe you’ve accepted your fate. You’re not getting any younger, smarter, or more attractive. Your bucket list likely contains a few completed items and may even have a post-script of “don’t kick the bucket” scribbled on the bottom. If you’re like me, you may be on version three or four of your bucket list – as you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be America’s Next Top Model; you won’t win the Amazing Race; and you probably won’t be discovered and cast as the leading lady in any blockbuster movies. I’ve come to see the world through middle-aged eyes; eyes that require corrective lenses while driving, according to the Department of Motor Vehicles. I sometimes forget that not everyone in my age demographic shares my perspective. Just the other day – a day when I was admittedly fired up and feeling particularly angst-ridden about life, the universe, and everything else – I was conversing with some dude at work about middle-age and ended whatever epiphany I was waxing on about with, “Well, I’ll be dead in 25 years anyway.” This dude happens to be a mere 361 days older than I am and I fear he hasn’t spent nearly enough time pondering his inevitable mortality because he cocked his head to the side and said, “Really? I figure I have at least another 40 years in me.” I wisely abstained from bursting into an a cappella version of Only the Good Die Young, muttered something about adult diapers, and let him continue on in his blissful ignorance.  I should get an award for that kind of restraint.

Since my emotional age is hovering somewhere around 13 and my physical age (if my cardiovascular endurance is any indication) is somewhere around 136, I find middle-age fascinating. I occasionally pause, look around and wonder, “How in the hell did I get here?” I was a weird kid with an active imagination, paralyzing shyness, enormous teeth, and a terrible haircut. I was taller than my teachers by 4^th grade but my height did not make me graceful. I tripped, fell, and blundered my way through gym class, praying for the power to become invisible. I escaped into books and my favorite place was the library or the bookstore. I loved books so much that I wanted to own all of them so I could read them over and over and over again – and that paved the way for a minor crime spree where I “relocated” about 100 books from my school classroom to my own personal library. I was eventually caught and brought to justice and the books were returned, but I sure did miss them.

When you reach middle age, people assume you have an interesting story to tell. I don’t know if mine is all that interesting, but it’s mine – and I certainly never imagined that somewhere between 30-70 years on earth would have brought me to this place. What do you remember most when you look back on your life? Do you remember the first time you fell in love? With a troubled boy you met at a youth group Christmas caroling event, who smelled like Downey fabric softener and Marlboro Reds and happily ever after? Of course you do. You still have that homemade Valentine he sent you in a box of memories in the basement – even though he slept with your best friend and broke your heart. Every time you hear Air Supply – or Metallica, oddly enough – you can smell the fabric softener, you can feel the St. Austin’s gymnasium, and you are suddenly transformed to a 14 year old girl with a bad perm and acid washed jeans feeling all the feels.

When I was 14 or 15 or 16, I had all kinds of ideas and dreams about the rest of my life. I was going to save the world. I’d be a teacher; an actress; an author. I’d fall in love, have 2.5 perfect children with the perfect husband. (And by the way, I had him all scoped out too. His name was Pete and he was perfect. He was also incredibly kind and patient and although he knew I had a mad, crazy crush on him, he never mocked me. He did, however, impregnate and marry my arch rival when we were a mere 18 years old, but they have lived happily ever after.)  I’d have a career, a family, and I’d make my mark on the world. At 18, I went on some dates with a guy who delivered Hostess products for a living. I called him “Twinkie Tim” and I didn’t mind that he wore blue polyester pants. He had access to fruit pies and cupcakes, for Christ’s sake! I was never afraid of a little hard work – and although I was lucky enough to go away to a fine, fine liberal arts college, my heart was never far from Minneapolis. I was too young and too focused on “what’s next” to fully appreciate and enjoy my college experience. Instead, I graduated early and tried to start my adult life right away. Of course, with a liberal arts degree and a teaching license in the middle of a medium-sized recession, it was a struggle. I worked lots of jobs and kept trying to “adult” – and I kept searching for my happily ever after with a boy who captured my heart in 11^th grade and for the rest of my life. (His name was Nate. He was WAY better than Pete.)

My more successful friends went on to graduate school; became lawyers and doctors and police officers. I wore a headset and made outbound calls to people who missed payments on their Target Red cards. I made popcorn at a movie theater. And I sold cigarettes and milk at the Qik N Ezy and endured all the horrible jokes that went along with that. Note: it would be years before I became either “qik” or “ezy”. (Sorry, Mom.) I never planned or expected or dreamed of working in business. In fact, there was a time when I would have peered out at you from behind my John Lennon sunglasses and told you that I refused to work for the man. But 20 years later, I find myself working at a Fortune 15 company where I’m earning a stupid big paycheck (considering my total lack of knowledge, skills, and experience). How the hell did this happen?

There’s a whole lot of reasons how and why I find myself where I am today – but I’m struck by the profound influence a handful of people have had on my trajectory, and it’s those folks whom I’d like to talk about. To every single high school principal who refused to give me a full time job . . . I say thank you. There are many great teachers out there – my baby brother being one of them – but I’m not sure I have what it takes to mold young minds. Not hiring me forced me to find another path. To Joe Kalkman, my former boss and mentor: you saw things in me I didn’t see in myself. You knew I was a Maximizer before I ever knew there was a thing called StrengthsFinder. You knew that I would take something good and I would not rest until I made it great. You gave me an opportunity to create a world class, memorable recognition event and you gave me the latitude to make it my own. In spite of all the turmoil and grief that my personal life brought me, I will never forget what we did at Disney World. I’m the only person I know who teared up at the Animal Kingdom – and you showed me that I was capable of making a difference. You also helped me open the door to my first “real” HR job at Best Buy – and that changed the course of my career.

To Kal Patel, the smartest and kindest leader I’ve ever known . . . I’m sorry you got stuck with a rookie HR generalist. I had no idea what I was doing and you needed someone to help show you the ropes. You talked about networks and nodes and I nodded like I understood, but I mostly was just trying not to wet my pants. Over time, we began to understand each other. You took all kinds of chances on me and you are the single most influential leader and mentor I have ever known. Your generous gift became the down payment for my first home – and buying a house all by myself is one of the proudest moments of this ghetto princess’ life. I’ve bought other houses since then, but I will never be as proud as the moment I closed on my first house in Powderhorn Park. You introduced me to my idols, Gary Hamel and Liisa Valikangas. At the moment when I needed something to believe in, when I needed to know that things happen for a reason, you invited me to consider resilience. You gave me the space to introduce an entire company to the quest for resilience – and while we didn’t save the company from its inevitable fall, you surely did save me from my darkest hours. You believed in me, yes – but more importantly, you showed me that hope and faith were not as elusive as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. You created the space and the opportunity for me to believe again.

As a kid, I was not only a book thief but also an avid reader. One of my favorites was the Choose Your Own Adventure series. I loved being in control of the story – and each choice I made would open up a new and different path. In life, we can’t control our stories entirely – but we can choose our adventures by aligning ourselves with inspiring allies like Joe, Kal, Gary and Liisa. I want each of you to know that the lessons you shared with me? They mostly stuck. My story exists because you wrote a crucial chapter . . . and for that, I am eternally grateful.

 © 2016 Princess D